Not Yet, But Soon
by OUATLovr
Summary: "I feel as if...I know you," Arthur said. And Merlin answered, "You don't. Not yet."


He was walking through the park as if he belonged here, as if he had done so a thousand times, and at the very sight of him, Merlin froze in shock, eyes widening almost comically. The book in his hands fell through his fingers to the ground, smacking hard against the dewy grass, pages ruined, but Merlin hardly noticed.

_No, it couldn't be._

But it was. There was no one else this could be.

_Impossible._

Arthur Pendragon looked different now.

But this was Arthur, hidden beneath all that, and Merlin knew it instantly, just as he had known Gwen or Gaius.

Oh, he looked about the same age he had been when he died the first time, and his features were roughly the same, but he had an aura about him that Merlin couldn't place. An aura of innocence, of a man who hadn't been through war and betrayal and death. A man who wasn't quite Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King of Camelot, who had faced down dragons and witches.

One of the children playing in the park, running circles around her younger siblings, turned and awarded Arthur a huge, endearing smile in that moment. He smiled back, saying something softly to her that Merlin was jealous he couldn't hear, and patted her on the head before pointing to a woman on one of the park benches just shy of Merlin's own. The little girl scampered off, that never-failing smile still in place.

_Perhaps this Arthur hadn't._

The very thought made Merlin scowl, for he knew what else it would entail. Arthur would be lost in this world. He would have forgotten everything. Just as Gwen and Morgana had, the first time he found them, or Gwaine and Leon, when he first discovered them in Victorian London.

It hurt no less now than it did then, and perhaps it hurt worse, to know that Arthur might not yet remember him, nor his old life.

But that was not going to stop Merlin. Not after a thousand years of waiting. It had not stopped him with Gwen, Morgana, or the knights, and he had forced himself to endure their lack of understanding each and every time they were reborn.

_This was Arthur, anyway._

Merlin stood up from the bench that he inhabited every morning, as he had for the last thousand years since putting Arthur in the lake. The lake had long since dried, and the modern world had turned it into a children's park, in some vain effort to protect the scant number of wildlife that lived there. All courtesy of Merlin, of course, who had seen to it, in his position as guard of Arthur's remains, that nothing harmed his watery grave.

And so skyscrapers grew around what remained of the lake, diners and shady motels encroaching a bit more on it year by year, but Merlin had spent a thousand years guarding this lake, and the modern age would not deter him from doing so, now.

The lake had dried, over the years that Merlin stood guard beside it, and, in the first few centuries, that had terrified him. What became of Arthur's remains, when they had before sunk to a watery grave?

He did what he could. He purchased the land, under the guise of a young lord, in the height of the Middle Ages, and dug through the dirt for his king, terrified of what he might find.

And found, much to his delight, a glass coffin. The water and the coffin had preserved the young king all this time, and Merlin had read of such things, but never expected it. Needless to say, he was glad not to find a pile of brittle bones.

He buried the body, and the coffin, in the same place he had found it, but with the reverence that a king's burial deserved. There had still been a great forest behind the swamp, then, before the Industrial Revolution had seen it torn down. Morgana had helped him, though she doubtless wondered, at the time, what he was doing, digging up an old body only to bury it once more. She had the good sense, however, not to ask him about it.

She did not yet remember, then, who she was, and she had thought, at the time, that she was his sister, lady of the manor. He had been quite content to leave her to her delusions. After all, it was not the first time he had encountered Morgana, over the years, and he knew better, by then, than to provoke her memories.

Many centuries had passed since then, with Merlin constantly as close to the abandoned lake as he dared. When he died, he found that the little plot of land, for that was all it was now, would pass on to another, and Merlin would oft have to fight a lifetime to preserve it. There were so many who saw another use for it, a use which would see Arthur buried beneath twenty tons of concrete, or a scrap metal facility.

Merlin had fought for that land, though it had become harder after the two Great Wars, when London was to be rebuilt and so many homeless, terrified families wished to build homes on that little plot of land.

Still, Merlin prevailed, waiting in agony, a little more each day, for Arthur to awaken. He watched as those he both loved and feared lived and died many lifetimes around him, some close and some countries away. With each death and rebirth, he felt as though something within him almost died.

_But Merlin never did, at least, not in the same way they did._

_But if Arthur was alive...How was it that Arthur was alive, here, now?_

Merlin had spent ages near the park, ever keeping an eye on the grave of his king, and he would have noticed had Arthur awoken. He would have seen it, seen some sort of sign. Seen something.

In his imaginings, and, by the gods, he'd had many a century to imagine such things, Merlin had always pictured himself, standing beside Arthur's grave, begging him to come back now, for Albion needed him. Gwen needed him. _He_ needed him.

And just as Merlin would wilt in despair and turn away, a great light would flash out of the sky, the earth would tremble, and the king would come into his own.

The former of these events happened so many times that they were not far-fetched. He supposed he could not have hoped for the latter, even now.

_Had Arthur even woke in that glass coffin? Or had he woken in a different life, lived up until this moment under Merlin's nose?_

As much he hated the thought of the latter, for surely it meant that this was not the first time such a thing had happened, Merlin couldn't help but prefer it to the former. Because he didn't want to imagine Arthur waking in that field, alone and lost.

Merlin, unsteady, took a shaky step forward, towards the young man, before pausing, wide blue eyes staring, searching for some faint hint of recognition as Arthur walked past him. There was none, but that hardly mattered so early on. Gaius had not remembered until he was an old man, having spent fifty years at the warlock's side, and Merlin had been content to wait.

Seeing Arthur here, alive, Merlin did not think he would be able to exercise the same patience.

The Great Dragon had told Merlin that Arthur would return in a time of greatest need for Albion. Merlin firmly believed that time had yet to come, and would be far more disastrous than any of the terrors he had yet faced, or it had already passed, and Arthur had failed him in this one thing.

In either case, he did not believe that now was such a time, and so the very sight of Arthur both elated and frightened him.

Arthur was wearing a brown jacket that clung to a thin frame, too thin, in Merlin's opinion. The jacket collar hung low about his neck, and it seemed a bit too small for him to begin with. Underneath this was a purple hoodie, which had been pushed back against a sea of golden waves. Black skinny jeans and tennis shoes completed the picture, and Merlin had never thought he would see Arthur wearing such clothing.

_He had never thought he would see Arthur again._

Did he know? Did he remember who he was, in the land that was, and what his purpose was here? Did he remember anything, or, like Gwen and the others, had he been born into a life that would force out all memories of the last until Merlin changed that?

Merlin couldn't help but wonder if Arthur had just woken up. This was impossible. He checked on Arthur's grave every morning, had done just this morning, and Arthur had still been there, still locked away in that glass coffin like some sort of fairy tale, waiting for true love's kiss.

If only such a thing worked, and was not a figment of the very odd imaginings of the Brother Grimm and now, this strange man they called Disney.

But surely, the young man standing just a few paces away from him could not have been woken only this morning. He seemed more assured of himself in this environment than Merlin was.

_He seemed as if he belonged here._

Without thinking through what he would do next, Merlin walked forward, setting aside the book he had been reading on the bench.

_Le Morte D'Arthur_, by Thomas Mallory. The man had gotten some things right, but most things wrong. It was humorous, at any rate, and the third time Merlin had read the book.

Arthur was moving away then, turning towards the edge of the park where several taxis were lined up, waiting to take hikers and families away.

Merlin quickened his pace with a haste that would have startled his old bones, had he chose to be an old man today. He had to force himself not to run, not to startle Arthur away before he got the chance to meet him.

_Meet Arthur. As if they had not spent a lifetime together, short though it might have been for Arthur._

He could not lose Arthur now, though, and so, when Arthur was nearly to the cabs, Merlin stretched out a hand, eyes flashing a dull golden color.

He was usually not so bold as to use his magic openly in front of so many people, but these were desperate times.

_Arthur had returned. Arthur was alive again. _

Arthur tripped on air then, body sprawling backwards into the grass, and Merlin rushed forward, unable to hide his smile and so ducking his head so that none might see it.

The little girl who Arthur had spoken to earlier watched the warlock with wide, frightened eyes, pressing into her mother's skirts in fear. She said nothing, though, and Merlin was gladdened that she was at an age where such things were easily waved away.

And if any noticed the eagerness with which the young dark haired man ran forward to help the blond, they didn't mention it as Merlin bent down and reached out a hand to assist his king.

Arthur took Merlin's hand gratefully, and then his eyes lifted from underneath the blonde fringe of his bangs, blinking a dull, soft blue as they glanced up towards Merlin. Something seemed to happen as their fingers gripped each other; a spark of electricity, shocking them both, and Merlin forced himself not to let go, even as he saw the painful reminder that Arthur did not know him in the other's eyes.

So familiar, yet there was no familiarity in them, only confusion. "Thanks..." Arthur whispered, sounding a bit breathless.

Neither seemed to notice that Arthur was still on the ground, or that their hands were still clasped together.

"I...I'm sorry," Arthur said finally, face flushing a bit with embarrassment as he began pulling himself up on Merlin's arm, "But...I feel as if...I know you."

Merlin just smiled, yanking Arthur to his feet and watching as Arthur brushed grass and dirt from his jacket and pant legs.

"Ah, well, thank you, anyway," Arthur said, seeming to remember his manners then. Not that he'd ever had any to begin with, Merlin noted wryly. "But uh...I have to be going."

"Oh," Merlin said quietly, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. After a thousand years of waiting, his first meeting with Arthur could not have lasted more than a few minutes.

It mattered not. His and Arthur's paths were destined to cross again. After all, in this life, Merlin was the only one who remembered who Arthur truly was.

And one day, Arthur would want to know, as well.

"Are you certain we haven't met before?" Arthur asked, one more time, and Merlin felt bile rise in his throat.

He forced it down, swallowing hard. "I've been told I have one of those faces," he shrugged, self-deprecatingly. "But I'm afraid you don't know me."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, and then blinked, wiping his hands on his jacket and huffing a little sigh that caused his blond fringe to raise against his forehead. "Yes, of course. Sorry. I mean, thank you, for helping me."

Then, with one more appreciative nod towards Merlin, Arthur walked away, towards the cabs, before Merlin could stop him.

One of the cab drivers caught Arthur's attention, and he rushed towards it, favoring his right leg as he shouted, "Kensington!" And was gone. After a thousand years of waiting, he simply walked away without once realizing who he was. Who Merlin was.

Merlin sighed, unmoving from the place where he had helped Arthur to his feet. "You don't," he said finally, to himself, for it was much too late to say it to Arthur. "Not yet."

FIN


End file.
